


a banner made of pain

by scholar_rhodes



Category: All Elite Wrestling, Professional Wrestling
Genre: Abusive Relationships (Past), Alternate Universe - No Wrestling, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Brotherly Affection, Cody Rhodes Centric, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Healing, Multi, POV Alternating, Physical Abuse, Platonic Relationships, Trauma
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-02
Updated: 2020-06-13
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:28:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24498703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scholar_rhodes/pseuds/scholar_rhodes
Summary: Eight months ago, Cody Rhodes burned all his bridges for greener pastures.The time to rebuild comes, eventually. Surviving it is step one.
Relationships: Cody Rhodes & Everyone, Goldust | Dustin Rhodes & Cody Rhodes, Maxwell Jacob Friedman/Cody Rhodes (PAST)
Comments: 14
Kudos: 16





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> First time ever writing RPF, for the record. Let me know how I did. All characters are based on their AEW personas, circa late 2019. This will be a multi-chapter WIP where the rating reflects what I intend to delve into but tags and warnings will be updated when necessary. I'd appreciate any comments on this baby; I've never written RPF, much less for a character I love as much as I love Cody.
> 
> HEAVY, heavy emphasis on Cody and Dustin rebuilding their relationship here - and rebuilding bridges with everyone else. It's all platonic, folks, between Cody and The Elite. Chapters might vary in length and updates will not be scheduled. I'm writing this as I go.
> 
> Title from Downstait's Kingdom, aka Cody's entrance song. I'd love to hear your thoughts on this, so feel free to leave me a comment.

It looks a lot like it's about to rain.

It's dark outside, lights glittering across the city. The carpet is soft and the hardwood floor beneath creaks with each step as he approaches the hallway, crouching down as he opens it. The shoes in the closet are all shiny, black dress shoes lined up next to one another, spaced meticulously apart, the material soft where his fingers glide across them before withdrawing. His fingers twitch.

Those aren't for him, anymore. The sneakers discarded carelessly by the door - those will do. The gears are turning in his head, but none of them are making any real sense. He grabs the garbage and heads out, head stiff on his shoulders.

The phone in his pocket buzzes as he takes the stairs at a leisurely pace, footsteps echoing in the deserted stairway. Nobody's got any business being up this late.

Buzz, buzz, buzz. It's an insistent sound. It demands his attention, but Cody shoulders open the door into the alley - hands juggling a week's worth of garbage he'd been meaning to take out - and he uses his elbows to maneuver open the top of the container, depositing the rancid-smelling contents in his arms inside. Down it goes, tumbling all the way while Cody slams the top shut.

Buzz, buzz, buzz. He sighs, briefly spotting his reflection in a puddle of rainwater. His expression is polished steel: blank and shiny, no imperfections on a surface level. He takes his phone out of his sweatshirt pocket, shifting his weight from foot to foot as he scrolls up to read them from the top.

_Overtime tonight, be home a bit late_

_I'm thinking chicken for dinner_

_?_

_You don't even do anything, you can at least make me dinner_

_Christ, you're gonna ignore me all night? Bitch_

_At least take out the fucking garbage_

_You're capable of that, right? You can do this one itty bitty thing for me?_

_Well fuck you too_

_Bitch_

Cody stares at that last word, his lips peeling back from his gums in a mirthless laugh. Upstairs, the apartment is empty. The chicken is thawing on the counter and the ingredients are all set out neatly, in a step-by-step manner, but Cody doesn't get further than getting one leg inside the building before he backs off, finding himself outside again, under the rainclouds, as the hinges squeak on the door.

Be home a bit late, the first message reads. Home is a funny word, he thinks to himself, staring at his phone as anxiety shivers up his spine.

 _I got it,_ he replies to the texts. _I got it. Calm down,_ and after he double-checks that the message has gone through, Cody takes a few determined steps, stopping short of a sewer grate, weighing his options. There are two paths and Cody's frozen, chewing his lower lip.

The iPhone makes a funny _plop_ when it lands in the murky water below. Cody straightens up with a grim smile that becomes a grimace halfway through the motion as he carefully digs his keys out of his pocket, taking them off the chain one by one. Each falls into the sewer grate, making very little noise, disappearing into the darkness.

"Fuck you," he exhales, not quite sure who he means just yet. He gets a good look around at the darkness that's falling in every direction, surrounding him, almost wishing he'd have waited until morning to finally man up and go. The streets are empty and it's cold outside, but Cody mutters another "Fuck you," under his breath, pulling his hood up around his face, quickly picking a direction and walking.

With nothing but the clothes on his back and eight bucks burning a hole in his pocket, Cody finally leaves.

* * *

Dustin is in the backyard when the landline rings.

It's 2019. He knows a landline is practically obsolete, but Dustin likes it. He likes reliable things. If it ain't broke, don't fix it - that's a motto he lives by.

He's puttering around with another woodworking project - this time a chicken coop - when the phone starts ringing, the noise reaching across the living room and slipping out of the open patio doors, letting Dustin know that after eight rings, it's probably urgent. It's his business line, after all, but people really should just learn to leave a message, he privately muses.

He wipes the sawdust off on his jeans, strolling inside and picking up the phone with a lazy "Rhodes," that comes out a little wary. He's never liked being interrupted during a good day's work.

Nobody answers. There's noise, someone breathing down the line, but nobody says a damn word.

"Right, I'm hanging up," Dustin declares.

"...hey."

With the phone a few inches from his ear, Dustin pauses, slowly putting it back in place, his throat going very dry. "Cody?" he asks, his unoccupied hand clenching into a fist, nails digging into his palm.

A year without a word from Cody and the son of a bitch chooses _hey._ Dustin would rip his hair out if he had enough of it left.

"Dustin, I - I need a favor."

"How much?" Dustin mutters, venom in his voice as he starts to reach for his checkbook, "You can pick it up whenever."

"What? No. No, Dustin. I kind of...need a ride."

Cody's always enjoyed fast cars, expensive liquor and Cuban cigars. Needing a ride in Dustin's old pick-up seems off, somehow, beneath Cody, but what would he know? Cody hasn't deigned to come around in months.

"Right," Dustin finally sighs, "Text me the address you're at and where you need to be, then."

"...I don't have a phone," Cody tells him, like it's physically painful to admit as much, "I'm, uh, borrowing one. Dustin, come on, please. I'm at, uh...The Mighty Pen bookshop, right around the corner from-"

"I know where you are. Stay put," Dustin snaps, "I'll be there soon," and despite Cody's weak protest, mingled with a weaker thank you, Dustin hangs up and paces in a tight circle for a few minutes, quietly raging.

He swallows his pride eventually, though, like everyone has to with Cody. Dustin scrubs a hand across his face and grabs the keys off their hook on the wall, locking the house up tight before he makes it out into the garage. The key in the ignition feels a little damning, like Dustin still hasn't learned his lesson, but he's never going unlearn how to keep trying. Not when it comes to Cody, flitting in and out of Dustin's life as he pleases.

It's not a long drive, generally, but traffic is a nightmare, despite the fact that it's only noon. Dustin turns on the radio and when he fails to find a parking spot close enough to the little bookshop Cody's sequestered himself in, Dustin walks up, rapping his knuckles on the glass once, twice, three times before he turns around and waits for Cody to come outside. Dustin's done chasing him.

The bell jingles, the door shuts. Someone enters as someone else steps outside.

"Hi," Cody tells him, as Dustin keeps his eyes fixed forward, almost afraid to turn and look at him. "Thanks for coming."

Dustin allows himself a look, then. Cody's hair is dark again. Longer, now, than he usually keeps it, but not by much. The real shock is Cody's clothes; designer jeans, no question about it, but ratty and stiff, like they've gone too long without being washed, paired with a sweatshirt that's a little too small on Cody's frame, everything topped off with a pair of beat-up sneakers, ones that Cody is wearing without socks. Dustin can spot a sliver of bare ankle and a crescent-shaped scar.

That's not his brother. Cody looks like he got dressed in the dark.

"Where did you need me to take you?" Dustin briskly asks, still contemplating the disarray that Cody's in, how his face is pale where it isn't flushed from the cold. Dustin forgets all about pleasantries and mutters "I'll drop you off and you can go back to ignoring me."

Cody's face falls. He's never been a good liar - not to Dustin, at least - but he's never been so damn transparent, either. "Can we maybe talk about that, uh, in the car?" Cody asks, sad Bambi eyes cutting Dustin to the core. "It's cold out here."

Obligingly, Dustin leads the way to the car, watching as Cody hops in, leaning forward on the dashboard, chin resting on his folded arms.

"Seatbelt," Dustin reminds him. Cody straps himself in with a small fuss, wincing when the flat of the belt lays against his collarbone, but Dustin knows better than to ask. He probably got in another fight, out at some fancy bar, hitting on some guy's girlfriend. Or boyfriend. It doesn't really seem to matter to Cody.

"Where to?" Dustin pushes again, watching as Cody's eyebrows furrow. Funny thing about that is, Cody used to get them done, real neat and elegant. Dustin could swear they're a little thicker and a little more unkempt since last time in this light, but maybe that's because Dustin's looking for anything and everything that's out of place. His brother used to look like a doll.

Right now, he looks exhausted. Just plain exhausted.

Clearing his throat and setting his gaze straight ahead, Cody offers a clipped "I'm kind of in between places, right now," that prompts a sidelong glance from Dustin at him.

"With your salary?"

The judgement isn't heavy, but it's still audible. Cody had dreams. Cody always had plans and Dustin wonders how he blew it, this time.

"...yeah," Cody quietly agrees, crossing his arms, giving Dustin an annoyed, upset look that's more like the real _Cody_ than anything else he's said and done, so far, like the real person is buried just out of sight, below the surface of the skin. "Dustin, just...give me a few days. Please. Just to make a game plan."

Cody's lost his phone and he's out on the goddamn street without him. Dustin looks to the sky, torn.

"You do the dishes," he mutters, "And we have a deal," and Cody doesn't give him the blinding smile Dustin was expecting, nor the genial clap on the back, but he nods and fiddles a little less with his shirt, which Dustin counts as a victory as he begins to drive them home.

Cody's been there occasionally, over the years, but he still gives the two-story post-modern structure a curious look as they pull into the garage, his gaze almost appreciative. "I gotta get back to work," Dustin announces as Cody trails him inside the house, "You know where the guest room is. Fridge is stocked. Do whatever," he tells Cody, trying not to waver under the confused, hurt look he gets for his curt tone. "We'll talk later."

It seems to appease Cody enough not to keep pushing. He stands in the middle of the living room, looking lost as Dustin heads back outside, taking planks of wood to measure against one another, hammer trembling in his clenched fist. He can see Cody's shadow out of the corner of his eye, how Cody methodically goes about closing all the blinds downstairs, like it's a habit he learned while he was gone, off doing whatever it is that he was doing before he unceremoniously came crashing back into Dustin's life.

Cody closes all the blinds and then Dustin sees his shadow retreat upstairs. Those blinds get closed, too, a shadow briefly visible in the hallway. For a moment, he wonders if Cody actually lingers in the hallway window or not, looking down at him, but when Dustin turns to get a proper look, the blinds are closed and there's nothing to see.

"Goddamn crazy bastard," Dustin mutters to himself, putting the hammer to the nail, driving the nail through the wood.

* * *

"Do you have Omega's number?"

Dustin straightens up by the microwave, cup of coffee in one hand. He raises an eyebrow at Cody as he turns around, spotting his brother leaning against the doorway with an unreadable expression crossing his face.

Now, Dustin never got the full story. He barely got a word out of Cody on that front, but there's a tangible unease to Cody that hadn't been there before when Dustin looks him over. He doesn't know a damn thing about where Cody's been. All he knows is that Cody crashed and burned with all those people he used to call his friends and it's all his fault, as far as Dustin knows, but he shrugs his shoulders in response to the question, asking "What's it to you?" with a measured squint, trying to get a reading on what the hell Cody is up to. He's been playing nice for most of the day, now. It's not his style. He's never been shy about voicing an opinion.

Cody shrugs, too. "I was an asshole," he offers, somehow managing to be evasive even when he's the most honest Dustin has heard him be in years, "I guess, you know...I guess I think apologies mean a little more in person. Wanted to give it a shot."

There's an undercurrent of discomfort, there. Dustin knows they're both well aware of the fact that Cody hasn't said those words to him, yet - _I'm sorry, Dustin._

"I don't have his number," Dustin grumbles, "I think one of them texted me a while ago, though."

One of Cody's little clique, the boys Cody saw as a meal ticket. Dustin knows the M.O, by now. He's not proud of it, but sometimes, he wonders how long it'll take for Cody to turn Dustin against him, too.

"Why?"

Cody's floored, staring at Dustin suspiciously, like maybe it's a big joke or a lie. "Because," he says, tone exasparated, "You dropped off the face of the Earth. People noticed. People cared, I guess."

It's the careless _I guess_ that makes Cody flinch and Dustin pauses, halfway across the threshold that separates the kitchen from the living room, giving Cody a blank look that segues into confusion and exasparated concern a split-second later. He's got his gripes with Cody, likely always will, but when Cody pushes backwards a step and places more distance between them, Dustin grits his teeth and wonders why Cody's so quick to assume they're going to come to blows.

"People cared," Dustin repeats, leaving out the rest. "Came looking. Shit, I don't know," he confesses, "I figured you maybe owed some money. How should I know?"

They didn't talk much before Cody vanished without a trace. It was the norm, then and now, judging by Cody's tense shoulders and his tight-lipped scowl. "I don't owe anyone anything," he hotly defends himself, straightening up a fraction, "Can you just let me borrow your damn phone, Dustin? Like you said," he huffs, lacking all mirth when he laughs out loud, "Doubt anyone wants to talk to me. But it can't really hurt to try."

Dustin grabs his phone out of his pocket, giving Cody a considering look. "Are you still going to be here tomorrow?"

"Of course I am," Cody tells him, ducking his head. "Where would I go?"

It must've been a huge blow to his pride, asking Dustin to bail him out. Cody's always lived in someone else's shadow. He's not good with gratitude, or charity.

"Right," Dustin agrees, crossing over to Cody and shoving the phone into his chest, waiting until Cody fumbles a hand up to catch it. After a lifetime of awkward silence and immobility on both their parts, Dustin cups the back of Cody's head and sighs "You make it damn difficult to give a shit, you know that?"

There's no tremble to Cody's voice, but he sounds awful young when he says "I know," as Dustin walks away, back outside.

* * *

That's day one over with.

Dustin finishes up outside, placing a tarp over the half-finished structure when the clouds draw nearer, warning of rainfall.

Inside, Cody's sat hunched at the kitchen table, a bowl of porridge sitting listlessly in front of him. He doesn't startle when Dustin makes his loud entrance, leaving his boots on the patio before locking the door and joining Cody in the kitchen, but Cody's shoulders don't relax. They've been up around his ears for hours, now.

He seems lost in thought, all pout and furrowed brow. Dustin remembers that look from ages ago, but he chooses not to comment, swiping Cody's bowl away and dumping the porridge in the trash. "It's dinnertime," he mutters, "I'll make us a stew."

Cody tilts his head, half his face cast in shadow. Dustin angrily turns on all the lights.

"Can I help?"

Dustin takes a deep breath as he reaches for the ground beef, glancing back at Cody over his shoulder, taking note of Cody's uncharacteristic slump. He's still in the clothes he wore when Dustin picked him up, sweatshirt still a little too tight across his shoulders, sweat stains in his armpits. He's got a funny thing about him - looks childish and older than his years, all at once.

"Not with this," Dustin answers, turning on the stove. "Unless you wanna tell me where you've been, don't say a word."

It's harsh, he knows as much, but Cody owes him _something_. He does. He owes Dustin an explanation and it better be a good one, or Dustin won't hesitate to send him right back into the cold to fend for himself, like Cody always insisted on doing, like Dustin never meant any of the offers he made over the years.

It's a rift between him and his brother that's never healed. Cody's made a lifestyle out of that; drawing people into his orbit, then pushing them away. Well - once he's used them up, first.

"That's not fair," he can hear Cody say, breaking the stilted silence that hangs between them like an ominous raincloud. "Why are you so mad at me?"

"Why?" Dustin parrots, fumbling open the bag where he keeps his onions, "You think I'm mad? I'm fucking furious."

He doesn't trust himself not to chop a finger off, so he foregoes the knife for now, his hand too unsteady. He turns around and leans back against the counter, giving Cody an unimpressed look. "I looked like such an idiot," Dustin tells him, "Going around to every police station I could think of, trying to report you missing. You made such a fool out of me, you ass. You think that was fun, twiddling my thumbs and wondering if you were dead in some dumpster, huh? In cold storage in some goddamn morgue?"

"I...I wanted to call," Cody stutters out, sounding on the verge of enraged, himself, "But I couldn't. Dustin, I swear to _god,_ I couldn't. I wanted to."

"Well," Dustin scoffs, "Doesn't matter, now. You'll get back on your feet, patch things up with your little friends and then you're gone, right? That's how you work."

He used to be a lot more patient with Cody, but Dustin's given him every chance in the world until now. Cody's always found a way to turn it on him, to make his own path - Dustin just never thought that meant he'd be getting left behind, miles down the same old road.

Dustin didn't get much sleep, the first month where all his calls went straight to voicemail. When the second month rolled around and the phone was disconnected, instead, Dustin put his fist through a wall and then patched up the hole.

"You," he tells Cody, "Scared the shit out of me."

At the table, the chair scrapes loudly against the floor. Cody rises to his feet, palms down on the table, knuckles gone bloodless.

"I didn't mean to," he tells Dustin. He sounds so much like a kid caught making a mess, it almost makes Dustin laugh. Cody says I didn't mean to like he made a mistake, fumbled and broke something delicate, but Cody made a lot of mistakes, one after another, before he came crawling back. Dustin doesn't owe him a sliver of forgiveness. "Dustin-"

"What?" he demands, voice rising sharply, "What the hell do you wanna tell me that's going to fix this?"

Cody crosses the short distance from the table to the stove, his eyes red-rimmed. His hands are feather-light where they land on Dustin's shoulders and Dustin meets Cody's eyes evenly, something miserable and relieved bubbling in his stomach when Cody's lower lip trembles. At least he's really sorry, this time.

"I'm sorry," he tells Dustin, voice gone thin. "Dustin, I'm so sorry-"

His body collides with Dustin's. Not like a wrecking ball, but more like a cresting wave finally hitting shore.

"You fucking idiot," Dustin mutters, holding Cody tight and rocking back and forth, like Cody's no more than five years old, needing to be comforted after a bad nightmare. "You think I'd ever be that mad at you," he asks, voice cracking right down the middle, "That I wouldn't still want to help?"

Cody chokes out a noise that's almost a sob, but there's a tinge of helpless laughter to it, too. "I didn't want to scare you," he tells Dustin, "I just - I screwed up, Dustin. I screwed up so bad."

He sounds scared. Dustin holds him tighter, sighing "I know, kid," as Cody leans all his weight against Dustin, like he's always trusted Dustin to catch him if he falls. "I know."

Eventually, dinner gets made. Pulling back from Cody turns out to be challenging, because Cody's fingers linger in Dustin's shirt like he's the only thing keeping Cody grounded, but once Dustin sets him to the task of chopping the onions, there's almost an amicable silence between them, shoulders brushing on occasion as they move around each other. Cody's gotten better in the kitchen - it's at least an upgrade from store-bought, Dustin thinks to himself, keeping close watch as Cody's expression settles into that same unreadable blankness Dustin got tired of years ago.

He bites his tongue, though. He's sure Cody doesn't want his input. "Extra spicy," Dustin tells him, gathering chili flakes and paprika powder, "Just how dad made it."

It makes Cody smile, just the tiniest quirk of his lips. "Yeah," he agrees, "Sounds great," and as the sound of bare feet against linoleum is made known, Dustin glances down, frowning at Cody's toes.

He hasn't gotten changed, yet. Dustin knows Cody likes his pedicures - used to joke about it until it became a point of contention between them, their lifestyles clashing wildly, but Cody's heels are cracked and there's the hint of a blister on his big toe, one nail cut unevenly, sitting jagged on the skin. "You should shower," Dustin mutters, "How'd that happen, anyway? You went for a nice barefoot stroll for a couple miles in the rain?"

The pregnant silence is answer enough. Dustin inhales deeply, then turns back to the stew.

Wherever Cody's been, Dustin gets the distinct feeling that it wasn't good for him.

* * *

Dinner goes fine, all things considered. Cody insist on washing up, afterwards - says he wants it done right with an odd inflection Dustin can't place, but he lets Cody go ahead and do it, scrubbing down their plates until his hands are pink and raw from the hot water. It takes Dustin telling him "That's enough," for Cody to put everything in the washing machine, darting an anxious glance at Dustin when he shuts the door, like he's waiting for the other shoe to drop.

"That's fine," is all Dustin says. "I'm going to bed. You know where to find everything?"

Cody didn't bring a bag. It figures, since he didn't bring a cellphone or keys, either, but Dustin can only take so much heartbreak in one day. He leaves that questioning for tomorrow, finally overriding Cody's stubborn silence as he sighs "I'll get you some clothes," and hears Cody follow him up the stairs, quiet on the wooden steps.

Dustin digs out an old t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants from his closet, then goes searching for boxers. Cody waits in the hallway the entire time, like Dustin's bedroom is some kind of forbidden territory he's not allowed to step foot in, but he hesitantly meets Dustin halfway and then takes the clothes that Dustin offers after a moment's consideration. "Take a shower," Dustin insists, "You can make the bed yourself. I'll see you tomorrow."

He goes to bed half an hour later, but he can't fall asleep straight away. Dustin stares up at the ceiling as he listens to Cody in the bathroom next door, as the tap runs gently before the roar of the shower drowns it out. He can hear the door shut with a gentle thump, Cody stepping inside.

His phone is on the bedside table. It's late for anyone to be texting him, but the phone blinks all the same as Dustin rolls over to get it, frowning at the message that lights up the screen.

_Fuck you, Cody. Don't call again._

\- Page, 12:45 AM.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Talk to me," Dustin urges, cutting Cody a look that freezes him on the inside, dread pooling in his stomach. "Cody. Where have you been?"
> 
> Cody counts the breaths it takes before he manages a sardonic smile, staring up at the ceiling as he fumbles for the right words.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter, we're expanding the universe beyond the Rhodes bros and introducing some more backstory. I can't improve without any feedback, so I'd appreciate your thoughts on my characterization of, well, everyone, especially Adam, Nick and Matt. The story will keep evolving into a bigger, darker narrative so bear in mind that I'm balancing backstory with laying down the foundation for the story at heart.
> 
> I appreciate each hit, each kudo and each comment - I treasure them, in fact. I hope you enjoy this chapter!

Cody sleeps in fits and starts.

The guest room is bare-bones, but Cody settles under the duvet he dragged from the closet and curls up as small as he can, breathing slowly in relief when the walls of the room don't close in on him immediately.

The mattress is comfortable. It shifts under his tossing and turning.

A part of his mind wants nothing more than to sleep for a lifetime. Another is anxiously awake, a headache pounding behind his temples, making sleep an impossibility. At 5AM, bright and early, Cody sits upright at the foot of the bed and winces, massaging the back of his neck, wondering when Dustin's going to be up, if he'll be expecting breakfast on the table.

Probably not. Cody still drags himself downstairs, looking through the brightness of the fridge for options, running his fingers over the egg carton. The inside of his mouth feels coated in last night's meal, but he didn't bring a toothbrush and Dustin didn't offer, but the mouthwash he scrounged up wasn't enough to get him clean.

Nothing will, at this point. It's not about that, anymore.

He wanders into the living room, taking quiet footsteps towards the bookcase, eyes flicking from top to bottom. There's no pattern, no rhyme or reason that he can discern - but Cody plucks down _Crime and Punishment_ and opens to the first page, longingly pressing his nose to the spine of it when he turns it over.

Dustin doesn't get up until the sun crests over the horizon, marking the hour ticking from 7AM to 8AM. Cody's on page 90. He's barely retained any of the story.

"Morning," Dustin murmurs as he descends the stairs, glancing at Cody, buried under a blanket, nose-deep in the book. "You're up early," he notes, pausing at the midway point between the living room and the kitchen, "Couldn't sleep?"

"Slept enough," Cody answers, eyes still locked on the page. "You want eggs? I can make us eggs."

Dustin shrugs, like he couldn't care less. "Be my guest."

Cody dog-ears the page, setting the book down. He passes Dustin in the doorway, not a single part of their bodies touching, like he's a ghost, incorporeal, floating through space without disturbing it. When he takes the frying pan and it makes a noise, friction between metal and skin, Cody exhales a sigh that's all relief.

There's a palpable tension between them again, today. Cody knows Dustin is waiting to segue into the conversation Cody doesn't want to have, but he at least allows Cody the space and the silence to prepare them both eggs - Dustin's over easy, Cody's sunny-side up. He stabs at the yolk, sitting at the table, eating as unobtrusively as possible.

He wipes his mouth with a napkin, obsessively, not wanting to make a mess.

"You want to talk about it?"

Dustin isn't looking at him. Cody pokes at his eggs without any real appetite, murmuring "Talk about what?" like playing stupid will actually get him out of this.

He's having a hard time knowing what he wants, himself. Cody hasn't thought about it in a while.

"That's cute," Dustin sighs, putting his chin in his hand and his elbow on the table, pushing his empty plate aside, eyeing Cody in a distinctly unimpressed way. "You don't have to tell me everything, man, but you worried me. At least let me know what for."

Cody manages a laugh at that. "You want to know what I threw my life away for?" he guesses, raising an eyebrow, resisting the urge to touch the scar that still aches when the skin pulls. "You really want to kick a man while he's down?"

"Yeah," Dustin decides, "I do, if it'll get me some answers."

Privately, Cody doubts that Dustin really worried as much as he says he did. Wouldn't it have been a relief, getting rid of the black sheep of the family? Not having Cody drop in to bother him, anymore?

But that's not giving Dustin enough credit, he knows that. Cody sighs and rolls his eyes, sinking down in his chair, crossing his legs at the ankle. "I don't know what to tell you," he admits. "But you can ask, I guess."

"Generous of you, giving me permission."

"Smartass," Cody mutters, directing his eyes at the floor. His back itches, drops of sweat trickling down his spine.

"Talk to me," Dustin urges, cutting Cody a look that freezes him on the inside, dread pooling in his stomach. "Cody. Where have you been?"

Cody counts the breaths it takes before he manages a sardonic smile, staring up at the ceiling as he fumbles for the right words.

"Well," he starts, shrugging with tense shoulders, pausing for breath as he searches for where to begin.

Dustin waits with visibly bated breath. Cody sighs, rubbing at his brow. Delicately, with a wry smile, he pitches his voice low.

"I met a guy."

* * *

"You're late."

Matt doesn't respond straight away - can't, around the pen between his teeth, but Nick darts in to yank it away, the two of them sharing looks of equal exasperation.

"I'm not late," Matt tells him, turning his eyes back to the floor plan on the table, considering the far wall, "I was busy working. I'm sure you've heard of it-?"

The back room is practically a separate reality all of its own. It's no wonder Nick didn't see him around, but Matt really can't excuse the fact that his car has been parked out front since before Nick was anywhere near the office, which means that Nick's really just looking for a lofty excuse to talk to him. It would be kind of nice if Matt wasn't so stressed out, actually.

Nick's mouth twitches into a smile, irritation bleeding off his face. "Right," he drawls, propping his elbows on the table, "Now you're avoiding me, huh?"

"I'm not avoiding anybody."

The way Nick nods screams _I don't believe you_ but at the moment, there are probably bigger things for them both to be worrying about. "We still have it, right?" Nick asks, poking a finger at the schematic, the key to building themselves a future, "It's still our contract? Right? Matt?"

"Relax," he laughs, "It's all ours."

The promise makes Nick's shoulders relax, but he pulls on Matt's ponytail in annoyance, huffing "You're really set on giving me a heart attack, aren't you?" as Matt grins innocently and winds an arm around Nicks's shoulders, tugging him closer to look. It's their biggest contract to date, but it's theirs. Nothing is going to change that.

"We need to take that conference call, later," he murmurs, "Bring in the guys for another look. I'm not feeling great about the layout, right now."

Matt's the planner, but Nick's got an eye for detail that can't be beat. Still, that's two people working serious overtime to get it right. Bringing Kenny and Adam in on the project is where the magic is really going to happen, if all of them can manage to be at the office at the same time, for once.

"You kidding me?" Nick scoffs, "It's brilliant. I don't know who you sold your soul to in order to pull this together-"

Matt's smile goes so wide it almost hurts. "-but it's great," Nick assures him, squinting a little. "It's going to be awesome, we're going to make a ton of money and everyone's going to clamor for us. That's just fact."

Someone parks out front. Matt would recognize the distinctive cowboy boots walking across the gravel in his damn sleep, but he still offers a distracted "Hey, Adam, you're in early," that rings hollow in the room, bouncing off the tall ceiling as Adam throws himself into a chair and reaches for Nick's temporarily abandoned coffee.

"Morning," he gruffs out, a sour look on his face. "Where are we at?"

"State of Georgia," Nick hums, "Oh, you meant with the project?"

Adam's glare could cut steel, Matt's sure of it.

"We're on schedule," Matt announces, offering a tight smile, "Barely. Really need your input on the materials, buddy."

Adam waves them off with a quiet "Yeah, yeah," as he marches to the bathroom, practically leaving dust in his wake. Nick raises an eyebrow in question.

"Don't ask me who pissed in his cereal," Matt chuckles, "Make yourself useful, won't you?"

They work in amicable silence for a while, barring Adam causing a ruckus by the coffee machine once he deigns to actually grace them with his presence again. It's quiet, slow going, but Matt doesn't mind; there's light filtering through the curtains and the A/C is keeping him comfortably cool as he sits in front of the computer, taking notes. Adam huffs a loud sigh.

Five minutes pass. Adam sighs again. "You alright there?" Nick asks, getting only a tired grumble in response.

He shares a glance with Matt, then, because they're both familiar with this mood, by now. Adam's clearly dying to talk about whatever's got him in such a bad state of mind, but he's not going to give it up without a little prodding.

"Adam, buddy," Nick says, launching himself towards Adam's desk in his rolling chair, "Why don't you tell me what's on your mind, so we can put a smile on that face again?"

Adam pulls off an impressive aura of _I don't want to talk about it_ but a second later, he cracks, throwing a hand up in the air. Matt glances away from his screen, trying to divide his time between work and what might be a juicy story, fumbling to keep himself casually disinterested.

"Would you believe," Adam snaps, leaning in real close to Nick, eyes blazing, "Who had the nerve to try to call me?"

Matt ticks off a half-dozen names, all from their collective shit-list. None of them seem plausible.

"No, man," Nick urges, practically giddy when Adam puts on another disdainful scowl, promising a story, "C'mon, tell uncle Nick all about it."

"Don't call yourself uncle Nick," Adam protests, running a hand through his unruly hair, trying to keep it out of his eyes. Nick offers the hair tie from his own wrist without question and Adam nods his thanks, expression going more pensive.

"Listen," Adam says, "I don't want to go diggin' up the past-"

"But you will, anyway."

Matt feels a little like a deer in headlights under Adam's stare.

"I will," he agrees, leaning back in his chair, pursing his lips. "But, uh, this stays between us, alright? I mean it. Don't go telling anyone else."

Frowning, Nick and Matt both offer hurried promises to seal their lips - Nick even mimes zipping them shut.

"Well," Adam finally scoffs, "I'm just at home, minding my own business and my phone rings. You know, I'm thinking it's the pizza delivery guy, so I answer all cheerful-like-"

Matt narrows his eyes, waiting for the bomb to drop.

"-and it's Cody."

Adam's speaking clearly. It's the sentence that doesn't make sense.

Nick blinks once, then scoffs, waving a hand airily in a gesture that's half disbelief and half irritation. All Matt can really do is take the news in quietly, his ears buzzing with white noise.

"It's probably a law of the universe," Nick sighs, rolling his eyes at the ceiling, "You're doing better than ever and bam, enter the asshole, stage right."

Matt nods, trying not to break the pencil he has clenched in his right fist. No wonder Adam wants to keep this between the three of them; he can't imagine breaking the news to Kenny and seeing his crestfallen face. There's really no universe where Matt wants to be responsible for putting that weight on Kenny's shoulders.

"Right," Adam agrees, mouth still held in a sour pout. "The goddamn stones on him, callin' me now."

It's probably not a smart thing to ask - get them all deeper into the hole they've all tried to climb their way out of for the better part of a year - but he still clears his throat and asks "What did he want?" like he couldn't care less, but there's a thread of tension running through his voice, anyway, no matter how hard he tries to muffle it.

There's not a lot of definitives that Cody could be after. Matt wants to narrow it down to prepare himself to handle the potential fallout.

"I don't know. Didn't let him say a whole lot, you know? He was goin' on and on about being sorry-"

When Adam gets pissed, his accent gets twice as thick. Matt finds it endearing, even now, considering the subject matter. Cody's something of an open secret between all of them - once, he's pretty sure Kenny had slurred _he who must not be named_ as he got wasted and sobbed against Nick's shoulder. It's an apt way of looking at it, but it's also an unspoken agreement between all of them not to bring up those times, anymore.

Nick's swiveling in his chair, feet tapping restlessly against the floor. In the quiet, the noise fills all the space in the room, slowly filling back up with the air that had been sucked out at Adam's proclamation. "You know he's not really sorry," Nick needles, "He's sorry he got called on his shit and he needs something. It's always _something_ with him."

The issue with Cody is that there were good times mixed in with the bad, except Matt is 99% sure that most of those good times were Cody pushing a narrative and laying down a plan to get what he wanted, whatever that really was, towards the crumbling end of everything. These days, if Matt sees a head of short, bleached hair in a crowd, he makes a conscious effort to head the opposite direction.

"I know that," Adam promises, rolling his sleeves up, teeming with bristling anger. "It's just, after all this time? What's he got to be sorry for, now? And anyway," he goes on, glancing at Nick, "I'm pretty sure he just ended up callin' me because his brother had my number. We all know what he should really be sorry for."

"Checks out," Matt agrees, "But are we really going to keep talking about that asshole, or are we going to do our jobs?"

Nick visibly pauses, as if he's considering option number one.

"Guys."

Adam shrugs and Nick sighs, both of them looking like scolded schoolboys. Matt glances at the clock, pursing his lips.

"It's just-"

There it is. Matt leans back in his chair, trying to imbue himself with some amount of self-restraint when Nick bursts into an angry tirade, huffing "It's like a recurring nightmare with him. You think you're over it but no, he slithers back in."

"Not a mental image I needed," Adam winces, rubbing at the back of his head. "We gotta keep this between just us, you hear me? But, uh, I figured you should know. In case he tries getting in touch at the office, or whatever."

The fact that Cody's been using his brother's phone sits at the back of Matt's mind, a strange detail he can't put into any real context. Last he heard, Cody was living it up - a raise and a bonus, lucrative contracts on the table, arm candy accompanying him to events.

"How the mighty fall," he chuckles, casting a snide smile at Nick and Adam, "Come on. We have better things to do. We're not going to waste any more energy on _that,"_ he announces, all three of them slowly getting back to their work.

* * *

Dustin goes at the pile of plywood with a vengeance.

The sun is high in the sky and his blood is hot, anger sitting white-red behind his teeth.

He'd asked Cody a lot of questions and somehow, he didn't come away with a whole lot of answers when Cody rose from his chair and jogged upstairs, running from the uncomfortable interrogation, like he's always tried to run away from anything that's hard.

Dustin takes a deep breath and then shakes that assessment off. No. There's nothing Cody likes more than a challenge. He rarely walks away from one without trying at least once.

There had been so much to talk about and somehow, all Dustin could think of was the fact that Cody went and wasted all his potential on a guy that stole his future out from under him, that Cody walked willingly into the trap and stayed there for months. "I thought we were gonna be great," Cody had mused, oddly mournful for the tense mood between them.

Dustin had been clumsy, asking "Did you love him?" like that would somehow make it better and Cody had bitten back a strange smile, rolling his eyes as he scoffed quietly.

"I never said _that."_ Those were his exact words, like Cody knew how goddamn shallow it sounded and didn't care, not giving an inch under Dustin's bewildered stare. "I thought we could - help each other. Make something explosive happen, shake up the industry..."

Because that's all Cody's ever wanted, Dustin thinks, sweat beading on his brow. Cody's always looked out for number one; you scratch his back, he'll scratch yours.

Every time he thinks he's getting closer to getting some version of the god's honest truth out of Cody, he retreats back into his fantasy world where he hasn't done anything wrong and where he doesn't deserve anything bad that's happened to him and - sure, fine. Dustin doesn't want to see Cody hurt, but sometimes, more often than not, in fact, Cody's really asking for it.

The plywood is divided into two piles; viable parts and firewood. The radio is playing a jaunty little tune from inside and he can smell Cody's cooking and it's a little too cheerful for Dustin to contend with. He retreats further into the back yard, checking his phone for messages, pausing on Page's text.

Maybe he'd be able to shed some light on Cody's recent whereabouts, or get him in touch with someone who could. Maybe Dustin ought to ask, one of these days.

One of those boys has got to know why Cody ran off, who held his leash. It's a morbidly comical thought, Cody bowing to anyone, but after a moment's consideration of Cody's little tics and odd mannerisms, it stops being funny at all and turns plainly tragic.

He'd asked if Cody needed anything at the store, earlier. All he'd wanted was a toothbrush and a pack of underwear. No real luxuries, nothing beyond the bare bones of comfort. Dustin had still picked up a cheap aftershave and seen Cody smile in surprise, taking it with near-reverence, like he'd gotten some piece of himself back that he hadn't dared to ask for.

Work was supposed to be distracting him, but everything turns his brain back onto the one-track worry he's been carrying since Cody first called. Dustin sets himself to gathering materials for the unfinished coop, sweat gathering across his back while he toils away.

Cody has the good sense to set Dustin's plate down on the patio table outside, bringing him a glass of Kool-Aid. "Didn't want to interrupt," he apologizes, standing awkwardly by the table, waiting for Dustin to approach.

"Sit down with me," Dustin urges, patting the empty space to his left. "It's nice out, today. Might as well soak up some sun."

Cody obliges, getting his own noodles and settling down, taking his sweatshirt off after a moment's thought. He's wearing one of Dustin's faded college tees underneath, looking like a kid playing dress-up. "What?" he asks, a touch defensive.

"Nothing," Dustin grins, "You look ten, for the record."

"Fuck you."

Dustin shoves Cody. Cody shoves back. Somehow, there's a headlock involved before Cody squirms away, laughing a little breathlessly, finally showing some color in his cheeks as they dig into their food, swatting away curious flies that buzz around their heads.

There's an earnest relaxation to Cody's expression, now that he's gotten himself settled. He eats and actually talks to Dustin without Dustin having to fight tooth and nail for a real conversation and it's comfortable, almost, if he allows himself to forget everything else that's hanging over their heads.

This is his brother. Dustin can give them both an out, just today. For a little while, at least.

"I missed this," Cody tells him, practically out of the blue. He wipes his mouth with a napkin that he folds down into a small, compact square, tucking it away beneath his plate, running his thumb in little circles across his bouncing knee. "You know, this place. City gets kind of boring, after a while."

"No more nightlife to enjoy?" Dustin guesses, "Bright lights, big city. Never could stand it, myself."

"Well, you're old," Cody tells him, ducking away with a laugh when Dustin takes a half-hearted swipe at his shoulder. "No, I meant _this_ place. Hanging out with you. I should've visited more."

Dustin leans back in his seat, plucking his sunglasses out of his shirt pocket, putting them on with practiced ease. "When you get back on your feet, you can visit as much as you want."

It's not exactly a promise, but it's an invitation. Cody doesn't look surprised by it, but he nods, rolling his shoulders.

"I will. Maybe we could go camping, too."

If this is Cody's way of making up for lost time, Dustin's not complaining. "You?" he asks, "Country boy, you are not. How's a city slicker going to survive out in those big, bad woods?"

Cody huffs, not deigning to respond - or, more likely, knowing that it's true as the tips of his ears go pink. "Then teach me," he challenges, raising an eyebrow, "Bit of brotherly bonding, instead of being an asshole and holding it over my head."

"That's my job," Dustin chuckles, wiping the sweat from his brow as he stands up, squeezing Cody's shoulder once. "I need to get back to work. Go, watch...SyFy or whatever it is you're into."

Cody directs his smile at the ground, nodding. "Will do," he agrees, gathering their plates and their glasses, shuffling back inside, appearing by the staircase once he's finished in the kitchen. Dustin can feel the weight of Cody's eyes on him from yards away, turning around with a questioning quirk to his mouth as Cody tries to play it cool, clearly working himself up to something monumental.

"Hey, Dustin?"

"Yeah?"

Cody hesitates at the foot of the stairs, one foot on the bottom step as Cody rolls his bottom lip between his teeth. "If anyone comes around, asking about me, you know...anyone calls, whatever. Don't tell them I'm here."

"You sure you're not involved in something bad?"

Dustin's still not ruling that out - drugs, maybe, considering the shakes Cody gets, sometimes. As gentle and non-judgmental as Dustin tries to be, Cody still bristles at the insinuation, sighing "No, I'm not. Not really. I'm promising you that, alright, so can _you_ just promise me this one thing? Please?"

For a moment, Dustin is tempted to tell Cody a thing or two about promises and how many have fallen through between them, but he bites his tongue, reading the flash of terror in Cody's eyes and deciding to play along, to be kind, if only for the sake of avoiding more tension in the house.

"Alright. I won't say a word."

Cody nods, chest expanding with relieved breath. "Thank you," he says, like he's been practicing the words before he silently disappears upstairs. Dustin looks at the closed blinds all around him, reminding himself not to push too hard, too fast.

* * *

Cody used to be an avid reader. He'd devour a novel or two a day, eager for more, trying to piece together motives and motivations and subtext before the pages could reveal everything on their own. There's some kind of homesickness in his throat when he picks up the book from the bedside table, settling on top of the covers, his eyes feeling sleep-heavy while his brain races through thoughts like a horse on a long, winding track.

He reads for a good two hours, barely moving an inch, content to lose himself in someone else's life before the inevitable point where he has to return to his own. Yawning, he slowly starts to settle back against the pillows, taking brief notice of how stiff his back has gotten as he tries to take in the last few pages while he's still able to.

Sometimes, Cody wishes he could build a time machine and wander back to simpler times, where he knew the rules of the playing field, where he wasn't getting his legs swept out from under him at every turn, but that's not the entire truth.

Sometimes, Cody wants to go back to when he wasn't playing a game - not consciously, at least, when it was just his arm around Matt's shoulders and Kenny's laughter in his ear and no ulterior motives lurking in his head, just yet, because for a split-second, Cody almost felt a little like he belonged. He had the whole world in the palm of his hand, not so long ago.

It was glorious. It wasn't meant to last.

He shakes the thought, scoffing. There's no going back, now. He fixes his eyes on the sentence he wasn't quite able to process, rereading it, listening to the soothing sounds of Dustin moving around in the room next door, getting himself ready for bed, hearing drawers opening and closing, a charger being plugged into the outlet. Silence disquiets Cody, nowadays. He's almost at the end of his rope, eyelids feeling heavy, but one more page, he tells himself, just one more page and he'll tuck himself in, after.

He blinks. There, at the beginning of page 328, Cody pauses for a moment, exhaling a long, loud breath as a tired smile tugs at his mouth.

He runs his fingers across the words, almost wishing he could smudge them, or erase them from existence. His life is a joke and the entire universe is in on it, apparently, including Dostoevsky.

There, at the top of the page, sits his indictment.

_Your worst sin is that you have destroyed and betrayed yourself for nothing._


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He lost his appetite for _Crime and Punishment,_ but he finished anyway. It's on to _The Brothers Karamazov,_ now. Dostoevsky seems to have an affinity for striking a nerve with Cody, lately.
> 
> (or: Cody tries to process; trying being the key word.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all, thanks for checking back in! I've been sitting on this chapter for a while and admittedly, I'm posting it drunk, but I hope you enjoy it despite the likelihood of some errors and typos being left in. I'd love to hear your thoughts on this chapter; what you liked and what you didn't, so that we can all move forward and make sure the upcoming chapters come out better than the previous ones. Again, I hope you enjoy this one!

There's a Starbucks, right by an intersection deep in the city center.

Dustin has business in town. When he asks if Cody wants to get out of the house, he's hesitant; one part of him wants to stay cooped up where nobody can bother him, but the part of him that's getting a case of cabin fever throws on a jacket and follows Dustin out the door, trying to wave off Dustin's concern when Cody can't stop fidgeting in the passenger's seat.

"It's a few hours, tops," Cody insists, "I'll get some coffee, hang out."

It doesn't do a whole lot towards convincing Dustin, but he shoots Cody a placated look as they pull out, wisely choosing not to comment on Cody's sunglasses, or his cap. He wants to go incognito.

"You know," he tells Dustin, drawling the words out, "You wouldn't worry as much if I had this handy thing called a phone-"

"Right, 'cause I have a few thousand dollars to burn on the latest trendy thing on the market."

As if Cody wants trendy. iPhones can track your location. He wonders if Dustin knows that.

"A burner phone," he mediates, shrugging in a transparent attempt at coming across as not giving a shit either way, but Cody values his anonymity, now. He wants to walk the streets like a ghost, unseen. His neck itches at the thought of being recognized. "Pick one up on the way back."

"And?"

Cody bats his lashes. "Thank you, Dustin, what would I possibly do without you?"

"Shut your mouth," Dustin groans, trying and failing not to smile as he navigates the streets, "Right. The meeting's going to start around noon, then I'll go get you that damn phone. You be at the coffee shop at 2PM sharp."

Rolling his eyes at being treated like a kid - and secretly pleased at Dustin's genuine concern - Cody murmurs "Promise," and makes it stick, because it means something, this time around. He watches the shop fronts drift by, the streets crowded around them as the lunch rush gets into full swing. Dustin finds a suitable place to park, but he takes Cody's wrist in his fingers as Cody reaches for the door handle.

"Be safe," Dustin tells him, his jaw clenched. "Alright?"

Cody doesn't shake Dustin's grip. He reaches down, squeezing Dustin right back. "I will be."

He hops out of the car, patting down his pockets. Spare key, wallet. He waves Dustin off, watching as his car pulls away, glancing at the Starbucks with trepidation running up his back.

They probably won't be there. Too many memories. Cody still approaches on jittery feet, holding the door open for the man behind him, getting himself in line and trying to remember what drinks he used to enjoy. It's been too long since he had one.

"Hi, yeah," he greets the barista, "Could I get the caramel frappuccino? Yeah, with coffee, thanks."

"Name?"

Cody pauses, blanking. "Uh, Garrett."

The barista nods, instructing him to wait at the counter to the left as she inputs the ten-dollar bill in the register, handing Cody back his change. He takes a moment to look around, taking in the new interior, how the plush couches by the far wall have been replaced by armchairs and stools, frowning.

If he concentrates hard enough, he can almost place everyone in their usual seats: Nick and Matt sharing a couch that's no longer there, Kenny perched on the edge of the leather bench, kicking at Adam's legs from his relaxed sprawl right beside him. Marty, he would be cross-legged, contorting himself to fit the impossibly narrow chair he'd chosen and Cody, he'd fit himself right in the middle, wanting to be seen.

He blinks and the woman in Kenny's old spot frowns at him, visible discomfort creasing her forehead. Cody turns his head, quickly taking his drink as his name is called out, retreating to a seat in the back where he can see the door clearly.

There's a college-age woman working on an essay to his left, not so much as glancing Cody's way as she worries at her fingernails. On his right, an older man is animatedly chatting to a gray-haired woman with a spark in her eye, holding hands across the table that separates them. Cody fumbles his book out of his backpack and takes his sunglasses off.

He lost his appetite for _Crime and Punishment_ , but he finished anyway. It's on to _The Brothers Karamazov_ , now. Dostoevsky seems to have an affinity for striking a nerve with Cody, lately.

Reading is hard for him when he can't immerse himself completely, but everything sets Cody's teeth on edge, nowadays, as he hunches over the book and sips at his drink. Every time the bell over the door jingles, his shoulders tense. When he hears porcelain clattering together too loudly, his hair stands on end, a shiver licking up his spine, like the sting of an exquisitely crafted leather belt.

Some muscle memory never fades.

"Sorry-"

The woman beside him gets up, momentarily abandoning her laptop as she navigates around Cody, offering him a hesitant smile. "Would you mind watching my things? I'll be quick."

Cody blinks, but he nods, murmuring "Sure," as the woman makes her way to the bathroom and Cody-

He looks covertly around, not seeing eyes on himself. The older couple is engrossed in conversation. He slides the laptop closer, opening up an incognito tab in Google Chrome.

Getting information on people is both easier and harder than it needs to be, nowadays. Cody doesn't want to know about birthdays or the last city anyone lived in. He wants a number, clicking on to the _Jackson Brothers_ website, scrambling to jot it down on his napkin and stuffing the napkin in his pocket, closing out of the window and rearranging the laptop back to its original position.

The woman comes back a minute later, shooting Cody a grateful smile as he tries to feel less dirty.

* * *

The meeting is uneventful.

Dustin could've gotten it over with on the phone, truth be told, but there had been that spark of opportunity in forcing Cody out of the house under the pretense of not wanting him to stay cooped up all day, on his own.

He shakes hands, makes assurances to meet next week if necessary and then Dustin is heading outside, seeing that he has half an hour left until he's supposed to go pick up Cody. He starts heading that way, anyway, before he pauses in his tracks, side-stepping around the crowd to compose himself in front of an antique furniture store.

Cody needs this. He'll be better off for it. Dustin can leave him alone for a few hours and it's not going to matter.

He's doing a pretty piss-poor job of convincing himself of that. Eventually, Dustin resolves to stand by that decision, though and trudges down the streets, making a mental list of anything he might need to pick up while he's in town. He spots a suit in a black-tie sort of affair of a shop, the kind that never really feels all that welcoming to him, but the pale gray lapels would work for Cody.

Dustin considers it, but balks. It feels weird, buying Cody clothes. That kind, anyway, when Cody's been living out of Dustin's sweatshirts and worn tees for a few days and seems content to keep doing it. It would do him some good, though, having something his own size.

No suits, then. Target is right up the street. Dustin tries to peruse the shirts with the kind of critical eye he knows Cody has instead of just grabbing the first gaudy thing he sees.

A five-pack of black t-shirts, a pack of white tank tops and a pack of long-sleeved henleys. "Should do," Dustin mumbles to himself. He's not about to go guessing Cody's pant size, but he does grab a few sweatpants in a men's medium in charcoal gray, satisfied with the purchase.

Still, he kind of shuffles in place as an employee passes him, noting his hesitation. "Hi! Can I help you with your shopping today?"

She's young, younger than Cody, at least. "Uh, please," Dustin manages, a chagrined smile pulling at his mouth. "I'm trying to find something for my brother. He's younger. I really have no idea what works for business casual."

She hums, gesturing Dustin into the other aisle, starting to rummage through their shirt selection. "We can go with the basics, for now - medium? Right, then..."

Emily, her name tag reads. It feels too personal to call her that, so Dustin stands idly by as she picks out a cream-colored button-up, a baby blue polo and a couple of other things that Dustin has no hope in hell of identifying. "These are what I'd buy my boyfriend," Emily laughs, "If I could convince him to wear it. You can just rotate them with any kind of pants, really, should still look good."

Dustin, standing there in a faded Metallica t-shirt, smiles wryly. "You're a lifesaver," he sighs, thanking her as she waves goodbye, grabbing an abandoned shopping cart and going to return it.

He scrutinizes the clothes in his arms, trying to imagine Cody in them. He used to like these sorts of things, right? Dustin is sure that he can remember Cody in pastels and creams at birthday parties and formal events, although he always favored suits over something smart, yet casual.

Whatever - the current selection will do. He dips briefly into the electronics aisle, picking up one of those starter phones that kids get, these days, to prove that they're responsible enough for the real deal.

It's kind of clunky, but it can make and receive calls and that's all Dustin's asking for.

Dustin checks out with twice as many shirts as he intended to get, plus the sweatpants, in addition to a couple of skincare products he faintly remembers Cody mentioning in passing. Probably not the preferred brand, but beggars can't be choosers, so Dustin pays for his things and feels, at the end of it all, accomplished.

He's really hoping Cody likes it.

"Now who's late?" Cody calls, leaning against a lamppost outside of the Starbucks. "Young man, you had me worried sick-"

"Yeah, yeah, quit it," Dustin laughs, raising the plastic bag in his hand as Cody visibly perks with interest, "I was doing a charitable deed."

"That's for me?"

The way Cody's got the cap pulled low over his eyes and his eyes shielded by sunglasses - Dustin laughs. "You look like when you were in Little League," he tells Cody, handing him the bag for inspection, shoving his hands deep in his pockets as Cody's expression goes abruptly still.

"Look, I'm not trying to push," Dustin promises, worried about having taken another step in the wrong direction with Cody, "But you like nice clothes. You kind of look like a bum in my things. Besides, it's Target, it wasn't expensive-"

Cody hugs him. Dustin sighs, arms coming up around Cody's back. "Thank you," Cody tells him, his voice a little muffled. "Call it an early birthday present."

"Sure thing," Dustin agrees, stepping back a moment before Cody does, "You ready to go?"

"Yeah," Cody exhales, squinting up at the sun, "I've had about enough of this city for one day."

* * *

Adam's trying to find a parking spot, circling the same damn four blocks in an increasingly more futile effort of actually finding something empty.

There's a truck up ahead, slowly backing out. "You're mine," Adam mutters below his breath, giving a scathing look to the driver alongside him who quickly speeds up and abandons all thoughts of trying to steal the spot. "Yeah, that's what I thought."

As soon as there's enough space for him to move in, Adam's flooring it, pumping his fist in pure joy when he gets in, smiling broadly.

The truck pauses, waiting for the green light. Adam frowns, tilting his head, seeing two figures laughing together and from a distance, there's really no telling, but there's something about the cut of the jaw and the button-nose in stark profile that sets off a lightbulb in Adam's head.

"Son of a bitch," he mumbles, fumbling his keys.

* * *

Back home, Dustin makes a beeline for the answering machine, letting Cody carry in the bag from Target and the groceries they picked up on the way.

"I'm really feeling the love," Cody grumbles, "What am I, a kept boy?"

"That's disgusting," Dustin informs him, "Put those away, please and thank you."

Cody bristles for a second, then does what he intended to do from the beginning. Someone's droning on in the background, telling Dustin about some proposal or another, flat fees and so on while Cody tries to make space for the veal in the fridge. "You ever clean out this thing?" he absently asks Dustin, making a note to do that one of these days, if he's going to continue mooching off of Dustin.

He hasn't tried to access his accounts, yet. Cody's got his ID, driver's license, debit and credit cards - it's all there in his wallet, but it's just plastic at this point, serving as ID if Cody ever needs it. An anxious paralysis overtakes him any time he considers trying to make his way to the bank, though, to get things sorted out. As of right now, as long as Dustin is happy to help, even if it's begrudging, Cody's not willing to face that head-on.

Not yet. It's only been a few days.

The machine beeps, Dustin deleting his messages one by one. Cody wonders briefly about the stricken look on Dustin's face, then decides to do Dustin the same courtesy he's been offered; not pushing.

"You should try those on," Dustin tells him, nodding to the bag slumped against the stairs. "I mean, it was all guesswork. If I have to return anything, I'd rather do it today."

Cody cocks his head, taking the bag in his hands and smiling at the contents. "Moisturizer," he notes, picking up the little plastic container, "Uh, Dustin? What exactly do you think I need tweezers for?"

Dustin raises a bushy eyebrow. Pointedly.

"That's fair," Cody concedes, running his thumb over his right eyebrow, briefly tracing the scar. "Right, fine. I'll go play dress-up."

"You do that," Dustin huffs, sending Cody on his way.

* * *

Cody changes in the bathroom.

The door to the guest bedroom doesn't lock. The bathroom latch squeaks softly as Cody double and triple-checks that it's properly locked, then grabs the first shirt out of the bag to try it on.

It's not bad. Not from the angle Cody can see himself from, anyway, as he turns and fusses in front of the mirror, tugging at the material to test if it's see-through once it's stretched and damp, but the thread holds up and Cody exhales a sigh of relief, going through all the shirts in quick succession. "Fits fine," he hollers down to Dustin, "Thanks."

He takes a shower, then changes into one of his new shirts, relishing in the brand new feeling of cheap cotton blend sitting snugly against his skin. It's soft; Cody runs his fingers across the collar and briefly wishes for satin, or cashmere, but reminds himself to count his blessings.

He tries to get the new phone set up, taking Dustin's ribbing with mostly good humor as Cody slinks to him for help, tail practically tucked between his legs. Cody's never been tech-savvy, but Dustin figures it out in a manner of minutes, plugging the charger in and giving Cody a brief rundown of the basics - that's all the phone is, in fact. The basics.

Cody chews his lip, watching as the SIM card is inserted. When Dustin goes to save Cody's number to his own cell, Cody clears his throat and asks "Save that under my middle name, won't you?" and tries to generate an air of reserved disinterest as Dustin raises his eyebrows, obliging. Anyone who knows him well enough who also has the wits to get the phone off of Dustin will figure it out in a heartbeat, but there aren't a lot of people left who fit into both categories, anymore.

It feels safer, seeing the phone display _Garrett_ as Cody nods approvingly. "Thanks, man."

He retreats to his room, fishing the napkin from Starbucks out of his discarded pants, biting the inside of his cheek raw as he inputs the number in his contacts, faltering when it comes to the name. Jacksons, he settles on, shoving the phone - still attached to the charger - under his pillow in a bid to keep himself from doing something stupid, like actually pressing the call button.

The door is left slightly ajar. Cody spots Dustin's shadow before he ever hears his footsteps, somehow both hyper-aroused and detached from the world, some details falling on deaf ears. "Good day?" Dustin asks, inviting himself inside to sit beside Cody on the bed, picking up the novel half-buried by the duvet. "Get much reading in?"

"Some," Cody allows, leaning against the headboard with his knees tucked to his chest. "That's not really what you want to ask me, though."

Dustin's smile is a little chagrined. "Yeah, not really. I'm worried about you."

Cody sighs, settling his chin on top of his arms, folded around his knees. "Shoot, then."

"You're running from something," Dustin observes, "Or someone, more likely. You used to love being the center of attention-"

"-and now I jump at shadows?" Cody guesses, shooting Dustin a wry smile. "Yeah, I know. You understand how breakups can be."

Dustin rolls his eyes, running his fingers over the book cover, shooting Cody little glances before he can quite gather his voice enough to speak.

"How'd you get that scar?"

Now, that's not what Cody was expecting. His hand rises to his forehead, tracing the familiar shape of it, lost for words under Dustin's patient stare.

He could make something up on the fly, probably, tell Dustin it was a biking accident or the result of him slipping in the shower, but he sighs, offering "I hit it on the edge of a chair," which is the truth, if not the whole of it.

"Right. Not that the chair came at you, right? Nobody threw it?"

"What is this, slumber party twenty questions? No, Dustin, nobody threw a damn chair at me," Cody bites out, sulking a little as he drags the duvet across his body, wielding it like a shield. "I was clumsy. Tripped."

Maybe leaving out the details of how he tripped is a white lie, but it's one Cody is willing to take to his grave. He's already turning Dustin's hair gray with worry; there's no part of Cody that wants to keep going down that path.

He knows that getting the information he wants must be like pulling teeth, for Dustin, but Cody's already sick of talking about it. "That ex of yours..."

"What about him?"

Dustin places a hand on Cody's knee, delicately. "Might have a better shot at avoiding him if I knew what he looked like. A name, at least. Make sure I don't go inviting him in for afternoon tea."

Cody knows that he looks fucking terrified only because Dustin quickly adds "Not that I'd - I wouldn't do that, anyway. Stranger danger, and all that," but Cody still needs a second to catch his breath, laughing thinly as the atmosphere darkens in the room. "Hey, forget it. That was a shitty thing for me to say."

"You...might not be entirely off on that one," Cody admits, staring down at the bed. "I mean, I wouldn't put it past him."

There's a lot of things Cody wouldn't put past him, in fact. Connections are a good thing to have and Cody knows exactly what kind of tactics might be used against him, because Cody practically invented them. He perfected them, at least, passing that knowledge on.

That's on him. Whatever happens next is on him. Running away is starting to seem like a worse and worse idea by the minute.

"You don't want to talk about it right now," Dustin surmises, getting a hand on the back of Cody's neck, thumb brushing through short, dark hair. "That's fine. One day at a time."

He pulls Cody closer, kissing his forehead.

Cody exhales, pushing into the touch. "Night, Dustin."

"Goodnight, kid," Dustin chuckles, closing the door on his way out.

* * *

Right before he joins Cody upstairs, after he dims the lights, Dustin circles back to the last message on the answering machine.

Something had felt off about it from the beginning. Cody, making a ruckus in the kitchen, didn't hear a word of it - Dustin hardly did, himself, after a pit opened up in his stomach at the introductory part of the message, but he'd saved it for later, waiting for Cody to busy himself in his room. It feels a hell of a lot like a deception, but after everything, Dustin feels justified in shielding Cody from his own mistakes. It's his lot as the older brother - keeping Cody safe, no matter the cost. He's still a bright-eyed, stupid kid in Dustin's eyes.

Despite how much it feels an awful lot like keeping a secret, Dustin would rather play it safe than send Cody spiraling. There are a lot of gaps to fill and Dustin is sighing as he pushes the button on the machine, waiting for the recording to start again. "Hello, is this Dustin Rhodes?" the unknown caller says, followed by a short, self-conscious laugh, "This is awkward. I haven't had to leave a message in years, but, well, here goes. I was close with your brother-"

Dustin frowns, glancing at the stairs, not sure if Cody could overhear this or not. "-and I haven't been able to reach him for a while. I'm worried," the voice goes on, smooth and low, "I guess the real reason I'm calling is just to check in, leave no stone unturned. I'd like to know that he's alright."

A pause follows, then a sigh. "Well, get in touch if you hear something?" the voice asks, "Take care, now," and then the click, announcing the end of the message. Dustin presses the button to delete it, deciding to file that away for a better time.

"What the hell have you been up to?" he mumbles, waiting until the message is confirmed to be deleted before shuffling upstairs, trying to keep his shoulders loose and relaxed in case Cody pokes his head out of his room, catching a glimpse of him. Nothing happens. Dustin showers and crawls into bed, his eyes still open long past midnight, his thoughts racing.

As Dustin settles in bed, it occurs to him that the person sniffing around for information made a point not to state his name.

Tomorrow. Dustin will ask all about that, tomorrow.

* * *

Cody is drained by the time he settles properly in bed, eyelids already heavy with exhaustion.

It's almost embarrassing, being worn out from the bare minimum of social interaction, but spending all his energy on going unseen and unremarkable goes against every instinct Cody used to possess, always chasing the perpetual spotlight. Out there, he's an unknown face, quick to fade from memory. Around Dustin, he's the baby brother Dustin can't quite let go of-

But in here, on his own, he's just Cody, warts and all. It's nice to be just _Cody,_ sometimes.

He makes a half-hearted attempt at getting a few pages further into his reading, but the words all go fuzzy, eventually. He's not able to process them or pick up on any nuance, so Cody sighs, burrowing into his pillow and then rolling over thoughtfully, sprawling on his back with his arms out at his sides, making a starfish shape on the bed.

It's an underrated feeling, getting to own a space like this. No knees finding the meat of his thigh in the middle of the night, no heavy arm around his chest in the morning. Cody grins at the ceiling and drapes the duvet across himself, luxuriating in the fact that nobody grumbles and tries to yank it away from him. The sheets aren't Egyptian cotton, nowhere near it, but the faint scent of Lavender Serenity lingering on them makes Cody take a deep breath, trying to memorize the scent.

The whole room has Dustin's touch to it, from the simple blinds to the sturdy nightstand. Cody's never felt at home here, but it's a close thing.

His phone is fully charged. Cody reaches for it, then hesitates on his contacts - the grand total of two that he has, anyway, of Dustin and the Jacksons. Adam shot him down hard, despite Dustin's half-assed assurance that things might change, but despite his better angels, Cody isn't sure that he would get a word out before Nick or Matt would shoot him down.

Making amends isn't as easy as making apologies, apparently. Who knew.

He reaches for the book to set it away on the nightstand, but as luck would have it, Cody's fingers are sleep-clumsy and he drops it flat on his face, groaning "Son of a-"

He picks it back up, squinting at the words that he finds on a page he hasn't reached yet. "This has got to be a joke," he sighs to himself, running a hand across his face, wondering if the universe is conspiring to teach him a lesson in morality because at this point, he feels personally offended by Dostoevsky and his insight.

Quietly, Cody reads it aloud, making a valiant effort to keep his voice from shaking when he murmurs “Above all, don't lie to yourself. The man who lies to himself and listens to his own lie comes to a point that he cannot distinguish the truth within him, or around him, and so loses all respect for himself and for others. And having no respect he ceases to love."

Adam, Nick, Matt - _Kenny,_ above all others, rise to the forefront of his mind, an ugly jealousy and regret cutting Cody to the core. Sometimes, his stomach turns at the things he's done. Sometimes. Other times, Cody just feels furious; at his failures, at himself, at not reaching the stars. Everything could've worked out smoothly if people would've just listened, but Cody never stuck around for long enough to offer any explanations, did he?

When an awful heat begins to prickle behind his eyes, Cody laughs out loud and chucks the book across the room, angrily turning over to lie on his stomach, hugging his pillow.

In the dark, he feels like a scared little boy: angry, and all alone.


End file.
